


a moment at war

by biggrstaffbunch



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggrstaffbunch/pseuds/biggrstaffbunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, in the middle of the war—</p><p>Bucky, and Steve, and desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a moment at war

one day in the middle of the war  
you smear bloodied knuckles across your teeth  
and share a smile with your best friend,

before your belly bottoms out   
with the sudden, explosive realization that  
you want to take him apart.

his shoulders are bigger now but  
he still laughs like he’s tangled in rope  
struggling to come loose from  
the cage of his flaring ribs and tall spine.  
he holds himself like his happiness is trapped  
and your fingers itch to untie the last bonds   
that keep him from you, to  
unravel him till he’s boneless   
and boundless  
shivering with _want_ —

except. you know better than  
to give into this urge. 

it’s the shock, you think  
the blooming horror that flooded your bones  
—that first night in kreischberg  
that last night in azzano  
and every godforsaken night since—  
when you realized you would die  
and he wouldn't even get  
a body to mourn.

it’s the shock, and some seed of darkness  
that's taken root in your heart and your groin  
and can never see the light of day  
can never be given the room to grow  
not in the glow of his smile,  
or the benediction of his eyes.

just the shock, that makes you revisit  
those days when you were weighed down  
with shame, minutes marked by furtive looks  
and quickened breath  
  
the restless squirm of  
constant,  
confusing  
desire.

(there was an entire week in '33  
when even hearing his voice  
would ignite something  
unholy in the hollows of  
your chest.)

that's why you're so thrown now  
why you taste metal on your tongue and  
despair in your throat—

because you locked that strongbox up.  
buried it deep, leered at any pretty thing  
with soft lips and lush hips 

anything so he'd stop peeking at you  
with that knowing furrow between his brows  
whispering thoughts in the dark that  
were too daring for what you were ready to  
admit to yourself  
let alone to _him._

because, see—

you’ve never been quite able to  
figure what you could salvage if you  
let that torch you carry  
turn into something wild and reckless,  
the kind of thing that burns everything it touches,  
flaring hot and wild until    
it's only ashes.

because, see—

where else does the fire go?  
it either snuffs out or flames higher and  
you don’t think you’d live through either option.

so it’s safer for everyone involved  
if you keep your counsel,  
if you keep your hands close and let  
your love for him stay enduring but  
unchanneled by

the skim of your lips  
on his skin.

because, see—

he saved you  
what ‘you’ there was left to save  
and in the midst of the stink and sorrow of this  
goddamned battlefield  
he’s got enough things to carry.  
it’s not his fault, not his burden to bear  
that you can’t look him in the face  
without imagining the way his mouth would twist  
if you crawled inside him to stay.

one day, in the middle of the war  
you look at your best friend and you wonder  
how he’d taste—like gunpowder and mud and the rain  
that never seems to fucking stop?

would it be warm and slick and messy  
and would it fill up the emptiness  
that yawns through your ribs?

it doesn’t matter.

it’s never mattered.

 _la petite mort_ or a bullet through the brain  
it’s him you’re dying for anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a holiday gift for the lovely K. Thank you for all you do <3


End file.
